The Sorority Sisters: Leslie No. 01bySassy Susan©
Leslie is a single mom in her mid-twenties, with two very young boys. She is also a submissive masochist with a yearning for more experience. She has a potentially permanent Dom with whom she corresponds via cyber and phone. At his request she has agreed to not commit to any Dom(me), including him, for at least 90 days. He encouraged her to use this period to explore and test the field. She found me and we are exploring. I think she is adorable. To help her think through her needs and wants, I asked her to write a sexual fantasy story about herself. I gave her no other structure, just instructions to not force it, to let the story come to her, and write it down without censoring or editing while she wrote. To just let it flow. To let her inner mind speak to her through the story.
It took several days before she could begin and then she wrote it in one sitting. What she sent me was messy, full of typos and errors and crying out for punctuation and paragraph organization. She clearly had done what I asked. In fact, her closing comment told that tale:
Well, here you go. I am not even going to read it over
or I may be tempted to fix it. I hope it is what you
I have edited her text to make it more readable, with hardly any change to content. This is what she wrote.
I am bound, on my knees, my wrists lashed behind me to my ankles, my legs spread, and my tits pushed out by the tightness of the bindings. I want to cover myself in front of these people, to close my legs. But I can't. Would I if I could? I don't think I would.
I kneel in the middle of them, fighting my brain to stay calm, fighting the urge to panic. I look around and see hunger on their faces, I feel like a piece of meat, girl meat, and it feels good.
I know that behind me on the table, Mistress is laying things out, I can hear them being put in place, but I fight the urge to try and look since I can't move anyway. The girls in front of me have sat down now, but the men remain standing. As the girls are also subs who have been through a night at least a little like mine, they know they are in for a long evening and make themselves comfortable.
One of them smiles at me, not a nice smile but still full of understanding and I can finally take a few deep breaths. Sir studies me with a look on his face that I cannot read. I don't think he is overjoyed with this night's events but he agreed without hesitation when I asked him to let me do this. I think he is just glad he can be there, even though he cannot interfere. I focus on him and breathe evenly, like he taught me, and see his smile as a reward. I smile back and then Mistress steps up behind me. "Are you ready for this, princess?"
I answer, "Yes Mistress, I am ready," and though I cannot see her I can tell she is smiling. "You may think so; we will see."
Out of nowhere hot wax splashes onto my right breast and I scream. I cannot really look down, but I can see that it is red and has coated my barbell as it dries. My piercings are only three weeks old and the wax seems to sear my tender wounds.
The pain fades slowly but my nipple itches and burns, and I try to squirm away from my own flesh. I can see the candle this time as it is tipped close over my left breast. I try to stay quiet and internalize the feeling of being sealed in burning wax. As the molten wax hardens and tightens over my nipples it makes me want to scratch it off. I hold myself still through a sheer effort of will and look at Him. He watches me intently as I pant slowly, and I focus on his eyes and relax into the receding pain.
The click of her shoes signals her return to just behind me, and a black riding crop is waved in front of my eyes. My brain wants me to struggle but my body wins out and stays relaxed and ready. I want this.
Mistress walks in front of me and runs the crop over my tits, gently catching the wax at
one point. She leads it down my stomach slowly, and I want to move my body into it but my bindings won't let me. As it trails down over the inside of my thigh, my eyes close and I can feel my pussy respond, opening and wetting itself. Up and down my thighs she moves the crop and I am moaning a little under my breath. She softly glides it up into my crotch, rubbing it between my lips lightly and then a little harder. I am so wet now and trying to force myself onto the crop, trying to let it push against me harder when it is pulled away.
Smack! My eyes fly open in shock and pain in time to see it coming at my other cheek. I can feel the marks left on my face and the coolness of my pussy juices as they dry there against the heat from the blows. I am so embarrassed all of a sudden to have my own pussy juice smeared on my face by a crop that I had just been humping.
She knows too. "How does it feel little princess? Little whore?"
I want to cry, but my pussy is soaked and I can feel my body wanting more. Smack! And my tit is on fire as the blow tears the wax from my nipple. I see red and feel dizzy and then the next blow lands on my other breast, making me cry out. No time, and I am hit again and again, one tit and the other and my brain seems separated from my body. I can feel the pain spread and each blow makes my pussy gush. I want to open my eyes and look at Him, but I can't and then I scream as my clit is smacked hard with the crop.
I would fall over but her hand is twisted in my hair like she knew, and my clit is smacked again, hard. I can hear my juices splatter under the blows of the crop, but I can't think I hurt so much. It's like waves crashing over me and all I can do is remember to breathe. The fear goes away and I can just live in the pain for the first time. There has never been anything like this. Sir has hurt me before but always within my limits. Mistress feels no need to go easy on me, knowing that my safe word is there should I choose to use it. Not that I can recall it now.
I am swept up in the howling of my body and the rushing sense that if she hits me again I will cum. The next few taps are light, playful, and they let the pain settle to a dull roar in my blood. I want it back but don't know how to ask for it, so I just let my whole body plead for the lash. I am shaking and I feel tears on my face but am not aware of crying. As my breathing settles she steps away and I am bereft. I want her to spank my pussy so badly.
I have made a pact with myself to not beg and to let her guide my night without me pleading, but god, I want to cum. I have never cum from pain before, never thought it possible, but I was so close and my pussy is aching for it.
It seems a long time that she has been behind me at the table. Then the people around me gasp and I am scared of anything that could make them react like that. I struggle for a moment until I can calm myself, wanting to protect my body from whatever she has in store. I see her hand at my right breast and then she is slowly pushing a long straight pin into the flesh above my nipple. Straight down into the center of my breast. I cannot even scream. My mouth is wide open and no sound comes out and I can't breathe and it takes forever until it is fully buried in me. Oh god, that hurts.
And then she reaches over and pushes another pin into my left breast. This time I find my voice and scream, and the sound of it shocks me -- inhuman and full of pain. I can't stop it and I think I may pass out if I can't breathe soon. Then the second pin is in all the way and it hurts, they both hurt, but I can draw a breath and then another. My whole body is tense and I can't relax around the pain, my wrists pulling at my ankles as I struggle to internalize this and calm down.
She stands with the rest of them and watches me as I cry and writhe around, waiting until I stop panicking. She is still holding the crop and I focus on it to calm myself. It is resting over her right shoulder and I can see that it is still wet from my dripping pussy.
She raises an eyebrow at me and I take a deep breath, then another, never looking away from her eyes. She is beautiful. She takes a step toward me and opens her left hand: clamps, three of them. Stainless steel, sitting in a little puddle of fine chain. My pussy aches seeing them, and I say, "Please mistress."
My voice sounds scratchy and not like me. My Dom narrows His eyes at that but says nothing. To my shock, she signals one of the girls to get up and hands her the clamps, nodding toward me. As the girl drops to her knees before me, she looks at me and smiles. That's when I know that this is really going to hurt. She gently pulls the rest of the wax from my nipples, tugging lightly at the barbells and making me moan quietly. Every time my breasts move the pins deep inside them poke me and hurt anew.
She rolls my left nipple in her fingers and pulls at it until it is hard as a rock. Then she sets the clamp and I moan aloud and cringe into the pain, my womb tightening and my pussy clenching. I love the feel of clamps on my nipples and sigh as she applies the other one. I settle into the feel of them. They are heavier than any I have used before and pull my breasts down. These are connected by the light chain that hangs down in a Y onto my belly to the third clamp.
I am moaning almost constantly now, and when she pushes down on my shoulder I do my best to bend forward against the bindings. I gasp as her finger glides up my slit and rubs against my clit, making me try to buck my hips against her. She pinches my clit a bit. Then when she sees that it doesn't hurt enough she pinches harder. When I wince she releases my tiny organ and applies the clamp to it. I yelp, then scream as I try to sit up. The chain connected to the clamps is too short, and when I try to sit up it causes the clamps to pull on my clit and nipples at the same time. The harder I pull, the tighter they clamp and the more they hurt. My whole body is on fire as I struggle not to pull myself upright.
On top of it all, I feel my orgasm building through the pain, in the pain. I thrash and cry out and then I am coming, falling over on my side and moaning like a bitch in heat and coming so hard I can feel my juices running down my thigh. It seems to go on forever and I cannot catch my breath. I just keep getting hit with wave after wave of orgasms, and every time one hits, the clamps yank on my tenders, the pins jerk around inside my breasts, and I come again -- a vicious cycle of pain and pleasure.
The next thing I know I am on my side on the floor, unbound, unclamped, and unpinned. I have no idea how I got this way. I must have passed out for a minute. Mistress is in front of me, smiling sweetly and holding a glass of water out. Someone helps me sit up and it is Him, wrapping His arms around me as I lean back into Him.
I want to massage my wrists but am too tired to even reach for the glass. She holds it to my lips and I feel water dribbling down the side of my mouth as I drink, wetting my raw throat. As I drift back out I hear two voices whisper, "Good girl."
Fantasy stories like this, allowed to surface from the deeper recesses of our minds and not constrained or forced to fit a predetermined form, are much like dreams -- waking dreams. The fact that she reports the dream in the present tense is a clue that it is dream like. This is how people report on sleeping dreams.
Both kinds of experiences can tell us much about what is going on in our lives in ways that are not always accessible to out conscious minds. Leslie is now at work trying to understand what her story is telling her about her hidden yearnings and needs. I hope this helps her find the path and person she needs now in her life.
I think she will not need me in her life for long. If so, I will miss her, and I will wish her a good journey.